My soul-cottage by the little brook of life smiled when Thou camest. O Mystic Electrician, the many-tinted bulbs of my senses refuse to scintillate with Thy light. The nerve-wires are shaken and torn by the winds of a busy life. O Thou, who art the builder of nerves and the maker of the shining currents of life, resurrect the dead wires of wrecked nerves and breathe into them the unleashed current of Thy power, that all the unlighted bulbs of my senses may suddenly shine with Thy glory.

I am the bulb and Thou art the holy light gleaming within it. Thou art the bulb and the light. Make me realize this miracle.

Heal the shattered nerves and flood the disease-clouded bulb of flesh with the divine effulgence of Thy light.